


Fire in Tomorrow

by epeeblade



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, M/M, Self-Indulgent, Slight Rimming, but then a plot showed up, one chapter is nothing but sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23059600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epeeblade/pseuds/epeeblade
Summary: The thing about being dead was that Neal Caffrey had no one to be beholden to anymore. No one to want to be good for. No one waiting for him at the flat he called home in the heart of Paris.
Relationships: James Bond/Neal Caffrey
Comments: 7
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to lapillus for the beta, and for grabbing me kicking and screaming into this fandom... actually that applies to both White Collar and Bond:)
> 
> I had a lot of fun with this. I hope you enjoy!

_In a Casino in Paris, France  
Two days ago_

The thing about being dead was that Neal Caffrey had no one to be beholden to anymore. No one to want to be good for. No one waiting for him at the flat he called home in the heart of Paris. 

All that, and it would have made sense for him to fall back into his old ways, the life of a con man. But Neal had plenty of money, and why bother stealing more when he spent his days walking the Rue de Seine, stopping for a croissant and coffee, before taking in the greatest art the world has ever known. He certainly couldn’t sell the Mona Lisa. That didn’t stop him from planning how to steal it.

No. He was perfectly content just existing, finally enjoying the proceeds of his ill gotten gains.

And then he found out June had died.

Something, deep inside him, thought he might have made it back to New York someday. He’d stroll into her home on Riverside drive and tip his hat to the woman who’d given him a chance. June had understood him, more so than Peter ever had. But now...he’d never get the chance to say goodbye properly. She’d never know he hadn’t died that day.

Just like that, something switched inside of him. He didn’t have to worry about anyone being disappointed in him. And really, June would be disappointed if he didn’t take advantage of his position in Paris. So much art, ripe for the taking.

It started small. A forgery to replace a painting in a billionaire’s collection. Did he still have it? The answer, of course, was yes. He had never really lost it. One theft became two, then three, then a dozen. Neal lost himself in the world of paint and varnish, as always caught up by the challenge of it all. How to reproduce the centuries of grime on Renaissance era art? How to make the cracks look like they’ve been there for decades? But most of all, how to reproduce that wondrous sense of awe the great masters evoked with their brushes?

And with all of it came that rush, that swell of adrenaline from conning the wealthy, the bastards who thought they deserved the money they inherited from five generations ago.

That’s why he was here on this fine spring evening, at the Aviation Club de France, the most exclusive members only poker club in all of Paris. He’d dutifully paid the membership fee, to cement his cover story as a wealthy American ex-patriot and art curator. 

“Good evening, Monsieur Dupree. There is a game just about to begin in room nine.” 

Neal tipped his hat and accepted his chips for the evening. Rene Dupree was his name for the time being, until he got bored and moved on. It was increasingly likely that would happen sooner rather than later.

Perhaps Monaco next? Who knew?

“Thank you.” Neal navigated the open area of the casino until he found his way to the private poker rooms on the second level. There were twenty, all of them open 24/7.

Poker kept his skills sharp. He needed to learn the distinctive tells of strangers and apply it immediately to the game. Figuring people out was a con man’s bread and butter. 

Neal slid into the open seat and nodded at the dealer, one he recognized. Pierre was left handed, which made the game far more interesting. “Shall we?”

The rest of the evening passed, almost boring in the monotony. Unlike televised poker tournaments, there were few instances of other players going “all in” and risking millions. Tonight was about the joy of the game, and Neal appreciated that.

He was considering cashing out when the player across from him excused himself for the evening and was almost immediately replaced with a man that sparked Neal’s attention immediately. 

It was the way he carried himself - that set in his shoulders, that air of confidence, like he knew exactly what he looked like and how he expected to be treated. And what he looked like...he wasn’t conventionally handsome, and certainly not Neal’s type. And yet, something about the pale blue eyes, the set of his jaw, the way his blond hair was cut so sharply as to only emphasize the angle of his cheekbones. 

And then he smiled at Neal. 

That smile did something to Neal, a visceral reaction somewhere in his belly that warmed him from the inside. He hadn’t felt such a rush of attraction since...well. He’d suppressed all of this during his time in New York. If the FBI had known he was bisexual, that would be just another thing to use against him.

But this wasn’t New York, and he wasn’t Neal Caffrey right now. “Bonsoir.” He greeted the newcomer.

“Good evening,” the stranger responded in English, his voice filled with all the clipped consonants of a British accent. “I’m afraid my French is atrocious.”

Neal smiled and responded in English, “You won’t ever get any better if you don’t practice.”

“You make a good point Mr?”

“Dupree,” Neal said smoothly. “Rene Dupree. Are you new to the club?”

“Just joined today.” Those blue eyes crinkled in the corners. “The name is Bond, James Bond.”

“Gentlemen, if we are all ready?” The dealer spoke in French and then repeated himself in English. “Opening bet is 100 Euros.”

The game began. Like all hands of poker, it was a careful mix of luck and psychology. Neal couldn’t help but be conscious of Bond’s eyes on him. Of course, it made perfect sense. Experienced poker players looked for tells, those personal tics that gave away when someone was bluffing. Any of Neal’s own tells were carefully crafted. One night it might be rubbing his chin, or faking an eyelid twitch. It depended on the persona he was creating for the evening.

Tonight he couldn’t decide. Honestly he had to admit he was distracted. It wasn’t the dangerous kind of distraction, no, his life didn’t depend on this card game. In fact, Neal was playing with House money. No risk at all.

So when Bond won the first game, Neal gave him a nod and a charming smile of his own. “Beginners luck?”

Bond laughed. “I may have only just become a member, but I’m far from a beginner.”

“I can tell.” Neal raked his gaze over the man, making it obvious that he was eyeballing those broad shoulders, the way Bond tugged at his cufflinks. Was that suit Tom Ford? Neal would have to be extra careful when tearing it off later then.

The games continued. Neal won a hand or two, never too many. Bond did the same, winning and losing, although by the end of the evening, Neal noticed he had the same amount of money he’d started with. 

Neal stood. “Thank you, gentlemen. I believe I’m done for the evening.”

Bond stood in turn. “I am as well.”

They exited the room together. Neal couldn’t help but notice the way Bond moved. There was a sensuality in his walk and a subtle movement to his hips. “Would you have time for a drink?” 

“I’d love one,” Neal replied.

“Shall we?” Bond held out his arm, gesturing to the bar. As they got close, he put his hand on the small of Neal’s back.

This was a test. If Neal startled away, then there would be a drink and nothing more. Instead, he leaned into the touch, relishing the feel of warmth through his suit jacket.

Bond ordered a complicated drink, which he demanded be shaken and not stirred. Neal asked for a glass of local red wine. 

“What brings you to Paris?” Neal took a sip of his wine, closing his eyes for a moment as he savored the flavor. One thing about France, there was no such thing as a bad glass of wine.

“Business, unfortunately,” Bond said. “I tend to travel quite a bit for work. And yourself?”

“I live here. In Paris,” Neal clarified. Although the idea of living in a casino amused him. He would never be far from a good drink. “I left America five years ago.”

“Politics or taxes?” 

Neal laughed. “Aren’t they the same thing?”

Bond got his absurd mixed drink and took a sip. He shifted how he stood at the bar, so his hips brushed against Neal’s when he accepted the drink.

“Is your place close by?” Bond leaned close to ask, his voice a purr against Neal’s ear.

Neal swallowed. The words went straight to his dick and he subtly shifted himself so it wasn’t noticeable. “Unfortunately not.” Taken by lust or not, Neal knew better than to take strangers to his home, where he created most of his forgeries. “Are you staying at a nearby hotel?”

The smile Bond threw his way in return was positively lethal.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get very filthy in this one chapter.

_At the Hotel Cristal_

They barely made it to the elevator. Bond pressed his conquest against the wall and leaned in for a kiss, one hand caught in that glorious hair, those dark curls that he’d been itching all night to get his fingers in. What a magnificent handhold it would make for later.

This situation itself wasn’t completely unusual. Sure, Bond usually enticed a woman to bed to learn her secrets, but with the right man, things weren’t entirely different. And Neal Caffrey was turning into the right man.

The new nom de plume hadn’t surprised him. His files had told him Caffrey - itself not his birth name - was on the run from the FBI. Well. Had been on the run, until he’d faked his death spectacularly. That was the only conclusion the eggheads MI6 could have come to after finding clear evidence of Caffrey being in Paris when he was recorded as dying in New York City.

Pity he couldn’t have convinced Caffrey to have taken Bond to his place. Easier to search it for the painting that way. Still, there was more than one way to access a mark.

“What floor?” Neal gasped when Bond gave him a moment to come up for air.

Bond grinned and reached out to press lucky number 3. “Not too long a wait, I hope?”

“That voice of yours.” Neal shuddered in his arms.

“Oh?” Bond leaned forward so his lips brushed Neal’s ears as he spoke. “Do you have a thing for my accent Mr….Dupree?”

“Call me Rene.”

“Mmmmhmmm, that won’t be what I call you,” Bond continued to rumble against Neal’s neck. “Perhaps sweetheart? Gorgeous? Darling? Which of those would you prefer?”

Neal continued to react against him, finally thrusting against him, so Bond could feel against his own hip just how much his words were affecting the other man.

Delightful.

The elevator dinged, and it was with disappointment that he had to pull away and get his keycard out. Lucky his room wasn’t far at all.

He led the way, winking at Neal as he pushed the door open. “Care for a drink?”

Neal all but sputtered as he entered the room. “You’re not going to start...that in the elevator and then ask me if I want a drink?”

“Just being polite. You might not get the chance to hydrate until much much later.” Bond took his time taking off his jacket. His pistol was hidden in an interior pocket, but he moved as if he was fastidious about his clothing - which he should be since this was a 1000 euro suit. 

Neal gulped. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“Indeed. Then undress. I want to watch.” Bond removed his cufflinks with one hand while he stared Caffrey down.

With a sly grin, Neal removed his hat.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

***

This was stupid and reckless and Neal was loving every moment of it. He’d had one night stands since coming to Paris, but with women, for the most part. Neal hadn’t wanted another relationship. No, his track record had proved it better that he keep his heart in his pocket and not let anyone have a taste of it.

Sex with a man wouldn’t be any different - Neal had no illusions about what they were about to do tonight. But there was an element of danger involved with someone stronger. An element that Neal enjoyed, something to get his adrenaline up and keep it up, like a really good con.

He undressed for James, stripping each part of his suit off slowly, and carefully, folding it just as fastidiously as Bond had with his own clothing. That told him so much about James - he was a man who liked things a certain way. 

Neal had barely stepped out of his boxers - leaving himself bare and obviously erect - before James bounded across the room and pinned him to the wall, locking their mouths together in a filthy kiss. Neal tasted the martini James had finished at the Casino, his mouth tangy and bitter.

James pressed their hips together, rocking his cock against Neal’s in a display of sheer animal power. Fuck. If Neal hadn’t been already rock hard that would have done it. He was ready to get on his knees and taste.

But James had other ideas in mind. He shifted his grip from Neal’s shoulders to cupping his face. Then his fingers traced down Neal’s jaw, and the lines of his neck, to the top of his pecs and along his nipples. “You’re stunning,” James said, that British accent making Neal shiver.

James seemed to like that. He grinned, a sly thing that promised so much more. “Turn around.”

Neal hesitated, for a moment.

“Trust me,” James breathed against his skin.

Neal didn’t trust easily. However, he was currently thinking with his dick, so he turned around. 

James’s lips were on him instantly, starting at the back of his neck and making Neal shiver again. Then he moved, slowly, trailing down Neal’s spine. All the while his hands were on Neal’s hips, working their magic.

“Spread your legs.”

Neal swallowed, pressing his hands against the pale wall. He closed his eyes and obeyed. 

Hands massaged his buttocks and then slid down his thighs. Before he could react, a warm wet tongue invaded his most secret space and Neal gasped. He leaned his forehead against the wall and tried to widen his stance even more. Fingers followed the tongue, and he was all wet and warm and being opened up.

“Want you to come like this,” James said, voice sharp and his finger so deep inside Neal now. He snaked his free hand around and palmed Neal’s cock, stroking it in time with the pulses of his fingers inside Neal.

Neal opened his mouth to respond, to say something witty, but all he could do was moan and nod. His body felt too hot and he couldn’t focus on anything but what was being done to him - and that was his body being played with exquisitely by a master.

Another finger entered - was that three? Hard to count, he didn’t want to count, he wanted to feel. Neal tried to thrust into James’s hand, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything to fight the rise of his orgasm, shattering him from the inside.

He came, his eyes squeezing shut as he dropped to his knees, with James still inside him. Neal shuddered and moaned and James whispered things against his ears, which did not help.

“Good boy,” James muttered. “Now it’s my turn.”


	3. Chapter 3

_At the same hotel very early the next morning_

Neal opened his eyes as the sunlight streamed in from the windows. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. But after last night’s strenuous activities he ended up passing out at some point. He looked down to see James’s arm thrown over his waist, and the other man snoring softly beside him.

He slid out of the bed, used the bathroom quietly, and came back to find his clothes still neatly folded. Neal dressed, intent on slipping out. He was debating leaving behind a phone number, when he saw Bond’s suit jacket draped carefully over the desk chair. Maybe he’d just leave his details in Bond’s phone.

Neal flipped back one of the lapels, expecting to find the bulge behind it to be a cell phone. Instead he found a gun.

“Shit.” He took a step back and knocked into the stupid bright orange decorative shelving. 

“Anyone ever tell you it’s not nice to snoop? You end up finding things you don’t want to find.” Bond said from the bed. He already had another gun in hand. Where did he keep it?

Neal put his hands up, aware of how far he was from the door - and the fact that Bond had to be naked beneath that sheet. He inched backward slightly, “Who are you? Interpol?”

A feeling like ice slid down his spine. If the FBI had shared his information with Interpol...but no, they thought he was dead. Everyone thought he was dead. 

“No. Not interpol.” Bond sighed and put the gun down. “I just want to have a conversation with you, nothing more. About a painting.”

There had been a lot of paintings. Neal wouldn’t put it past some billionaire to hire a honey pot security guard to try to get their property back. But Neal wasn’t about to be caught out, not again, never again, so he did the one thing he knew best - he ran.

He spun on one heel, flinging Bond’s jacket toward the bed, and used the distraction to get out of the room. Neal sped down the hallway, down the fire stairs, and emerged into the lobby, where he slowed his steps to avoid drawing attention to himself. Still the concierge threw a confused look his way.

Neal made it through the glass doors of the hotel, and down the steps when a black car came speeding down the narrow street. It squealed to a stop in front of him, and the passenger window came down.

“Get in,” said a familiar voice.

Neal opened the door and barely got into the seat before the driver sped away. He swallowed and stared at his rescuer. “Nice to see you too, El.”

***

The stupid gun had gone off, when Caffrey had thrown his jacket. Bond wouldn’t have believed it, except Caffrey seemed to have damnable luck. Every notation in the file said things seemed to go the con man’s way, even when they shouldn’t.

So now he had hotel guests swarming the hallway, looking for the source right when he needed them the least. He took his time dressing. “Transmit to my phone,” he said, fitting in the earpiece that let him talk to his handler back home.

He had expected Caffrey to run. That’s why he’d placed a tracker in the man’s shoe. Now all Bond needed was to get the hell out of here and to his car. He had every confidence of overtaking the man and hopefully being led to his stash. Finding that painting was of utmost importance.

“Bond, we have a slight problem.”

“Of course we do. What is it?”

“You’re not the only one looking for Caffrey.”

***

“So where’s Peter?” Neal tried to keep his voice light, to pretend that his heart wasn’t pounding at a million beats per minute.

He was watching her, looking for a tell, so Neal noticed when Elizabeth’s jaw clenched. “Peter’s not here. He doesn’t know that you’re alive, and neither does the FBI.”

But somehow Elizabeth did? “Mozzie?” Neal knew the two were close, but it still didn’t explain how Elizabeth was here, now. “No. That doesn’t explain how you just showed up right when I needed you…”

Elizabeth didn’t say anything for a moment, only accelerated far too quickly for the narrow Paris streets. “I’m CIA, Neal. I always have been.”

He blinked and wondered what exactly had been in that wine he’d drunk last night. “But...you worked at an art gallery.”

That’s how she and Peter had met, he was doing FBI protection detail for her.

“I was deeply embedded in the art scene. You know art can be traded on the black market, used to fund shady dealings. Terrorism.” Her hands gripped the wheel. “And then when I decided to ‘change careers’ into event planning, it’s because they needed someone to run events attended by said shady characters.”

Neal started running numbers in his head, and suddenly everything started to make sense. Her very weird parents? The way she managed to outsmart her kidnappers? “So, when you got that job in DC?”

She looked to the right and made a hard turn before answering. “I was recalled back to HQ, yes. But when I found out I was pregnant I had to quit.”

Elizabeth risked a glance at him. “I have pictures. Of little Neal, if you want to see.”

His heart twisted in his chest. Neal had ‘died’ before his namesake had been born. Part of him itched to see those images. The other part had to deal with the practical. “So if you quit then…”

She sighed. “Then you, Neal. Had to go do something so monumentally stupid that they recalled me out of retirement and sent me after you, since they figured I was the only one you’d actually trust.”

They weren’t wrong. But Neal had no idea what she was talking about. “I haven’t done anything more stupid than usual.” 

“One of the paintings you stole. The Swan Song.”

Neal rolled his eyes. He’d put so much work into creating that forgery and then when he went to swap the paintings, he found it wasn’t even the original. “It was a fake anyway. I think my version is better.”

“Of course it was a fake. It was a drop from a deep cover agent. They used it to hide nuclear launch codes.”

Well. Shit. . Shit.

“We need to get you to Charles DeGalle. There’s a chartered plane waiting to take you into protective custody.” Elizabeth made a sharp left and Neal realized they were heading for the A1. 

“No,” he said softly. “I’m not going down that route again.”

He wouldn’t trade the FBI only to become a serf of the CIA. 

“Neal, there are some very bad people after you.”

“How do they even know about me?” He slid his hand to the door, knowing that if he was going to make a break for it, it had to be before they hit the highway. “Who are we even talking about here? And can’t you just...call the country and tell them to change their nuclear codes?”

She laughed. “That’s not how international espionage works.”

Neal wanted to ask her for enlightenment. He thought he had heard everything, but apparently the FBI was an entirely different beast than the CIA. What would Peter think of all of this? His and Elizabeth’s relationship had always relied on their good communication, or so Neal thought. 

“We’ve picked up a tail,” Elizabeth said softly. She leaned her head to one side and clearly spoke to someone else. “I’m going to need back up.”

She accelerated and swerved, cutting off a car that honked its horn loudly in response. Elizabeth reached out to open the middle compartment of the car and pulled out a gun with a silencer. “Here.” She tried to hand it to him.

“I’m a terrible shot.” He swallowed at the sight of it. This was so much bigger than him. 

Neal was in so much trouble.


	4. Chapter 4

<>On the roof of an abandoned building somewhere in France.

Bond looked through the scope of his Glock 17 with the conversion kit as the black sedan swerved to face the cars pursuing it. They’d picked a good place to make a stand at least. 

Caffrey got out of the car with his hands up. His face had gone white, but there was still a look of calculation in his eyes. The car itself protected him a bit, and Bond could see the woman in the driver’s seat had her nine millimeter trained out the window.

Eight men got out of the cars that had chased them down. Bond tsked. Overkill. 

“Where is the painting?” the leader asked in heavily accented English. 

Bond shot him in the throat.

Chaos erupted, but he maintained his calm, ignoring the bullets firing in his direction. They didn’t really know where he was, and the edge of the building hid his location handily. Between his marksmanship and the woman firing from the sedan, the eight henchmen were taken care of handily.

The woman got out of the car and frowned up in his direction. Bond stepped out of cover and waved. “If you’ll wait just a moment, I’ll be right down.”

Then he broke down the kit, threw it over the side, and used the drain pipe to slide down the side of the building. He bounced lightly on his toes as he stuck the landing. 

Both of them stared at him. Bond smirked as he finally recognized the woman. “Mrs Burke. What a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Caffrey frowned. “Do you flirt with everyone?”

“Pot, meet kettle, Mr. Caffrey.”

Burke closed her eyes for a moment. “You could have mentioned, Neal, that you were running from James Bond.”

“Should I know that name?” Caffrey looked irritated. Finally, some different emotion on that smooth con man’s face.

Bond smiled wider. “Forgive me for not giving you my card. You must admit you left rather abruptly.” 

Burke sighed. “He’s a fairly notorious British secret service agent. The CIA has worked with him before.”

“How is Felix these days?”

“Happy that he doesn’t have to deal with you anymore,” She smiled, something just short of a smirk. Then she frowned as she looked over the carnage. “They must have a trace on my car.”

He nodded and bent over to inspect one of the dead agents. “Russians, looks like. Would you care for an assist?”

“I can continue to the airport. Lead them on a wild goose chase.” She seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

“While I take Caffrey to fetch the painting. Perfect.”

“Hold on a second,” Neal protested. “Why do you think I’ll go with you?”

“Neal,” Burke said softly. “I know why you don’t want to come back with me. This keeps you safe, and the danger on me.”

“I’m not sure I want the danger on you, either!” Neal shouted. 

She stepped over and kissed him on the cheek. “I can actually take care of myself. Besides, I have backup waiting at the airport.”

Neal nodded and looked away. Bond still didn’t quite know what to make of him. But he always did enjoy a puzzle.

“Tell Peter,” he told her. “Make sure you tell him.”

Burke seemed to understand the message. She holstered her gun and stared at Bond. “You make sure he gets the hell out of Paris when this is all over, do you understand me?”

It wasn’t the time to be glib. Bond merely nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

She slid into the drivers’ seat and started up the car. 

Bond gestered. “My ride is on the other side of the building. Shall we?”

Caffrey followed, with one last look at the black sedan as it sped away. 

The worry didn’t quite disappear from his face when he saw Bond’s Astin Martin DB5, but for a moment there was a bit of joy on it. “This is your car?”

“Technically it belongs to MI6. Small technicality.” Bond got behind the wheel, and Caffrey got in on the passenger side. “Please don’t touch anything. You’re liable to eject yourself, unknowing.”

“Noted.”

“So.” Bond started the car. “Where exactly are we going?” Where had he stashed the painting?

Caffrey grinned. “Notre Dame.”


	5. Chapter 5

_On the way to the Cathedral Notre Dame de Paris_

Neal itched to touch. There were so many buttons and gadgets on the dashboard. However, none of them were labeled, and he really didn’t want to accidentally eject himself. It reminded him of one of those quirky cars from the old 60s spy movies. What was the name of that series again? Right - Austin Powers. 

He peeked over at Bond. The man he’d slept with the night before certainly had the charm and charisma of Powers. But he was also deadly, as proven by those shots he’d made from the roof.

Neal had certainly gotten himself into big trouble this time. Trouble big enough that he couldn’t see the way out.

“She must care for you quite a bit,” Bond said, his eyes flickering to the rear view mirror and then back on the road.

Neal smiled. Despite Elizabeth’s revelations about being in the CIA, he still couldn’t think badly of her. She’d been part of what had been good about New York. “I suppose.”

“Enough to pull the danger onto herself, so you can get away,” Bond sounded as if he was musing, but Neal knew the man had a point, somewhere. “And yet you faked your death to get away from her?”

Neal forced himself to be still, not wanting to demonstrate any kind of tell in front of this spy. “Not her,” he clarified. “The FBI. It became obvious that no matter what or did or what my sentence said, they were not about to let me go any time soon.”

“No judgement here,” Bond said. “Did it myself once or twice.”

“Faked your own death?” Neal let the surprise show on his face.

“It was accidental the first time. I did get shot and fall off a moving train into a body of water. Understandable that they thought I hadn’t survived that.” He continued to drive, not fast, but a slow meandering pace through the narrow streets of Paris. 

Neal made a choking sound. “That seems excessive.”

He chuckled. “I needed the time off.”

“I have no idea whether I should take you seriously or not.”

“Oh, I know exactly how you should take me.”

The words made Neal flush. He looked away, unable to take the filthy smile Bond threw his way. They didn’t have time for flirting. They had to retrieve the painting...and then what? Elizabeth had told Bond to get Neal out of France, but where would he go next? Neal was just starting to get comfortable here.

“Do you flirt with all your marks?” He let the annoyance creep into his voice. Neal didn’t want Bond to think last night had meant anything.

Despite the fact that Neal wanted to do it again. 

“Depends on the mission. Honestly I prefer the flirting to the assassinating.”

Neal swallowed. “Noted. You’ve been doing this long?”

“Ah, trying to interrogate me?”

“Can you blame me? You probably know everything about me, and I’m not even sure James Bond is your real name.”

“It is, actually. And I wouldn’t say everything. I’ve been in this business long enough to understand what’s in the official record isn’t the whole story.” Bond turned them onto the Ponte d’Arcole. They could see Notre Dame in the distance. “Like why you’d hide a stolen painting in the most famous cathedral in all of Paris.”

“Why not?” Neal smirked. 

Crowds already gathered outside. This part of Paris was far more touristy than where Neal usually spent his time. That was the point. No one would think to look for the loot here.

Bond pulled into an empty parking spot across from the Cathedral. There must be some secret agent trick to that. Peter would always do it as well, in the heart of Manhattan. “Before we go in, care for some brunch? I don’t believe you ate before leaving this morning.”

Again with the flushing. Still, Neal’s stomach rumbled on cue. “Anything we buy out here will be way overpriced.”

“We’ll let the Queen cover the cost. Besides, we need to do some recon before heading inside. I didn’t see a tail, but that didn’t mean we didn’t pick one up.” Bond pulled the keys out of the ignition. 

Neal swallowed and nodded. “I defer to your expertise.”

Which is how they ended up at the Brasserie Les Deux Palais a few blocks from the Cathedral. Bond got them a table near the window, and he seemed more occupied in watching the outside than keeping an eye on Neal.

“Don’t even think about it,” Bond said, sipping his espresso.

“Think about what?” 

“Heading for the loo and then slipping out the back window. You’ll never survive without me.”

“I’ve survived this long.”

Bond snorted and finally turned his gaze back onto Neal, where it belonged. “Not against men like these. You’re only alive because they want the codes.”

A chill went down Neal’s spine. The cappuccino he’d ordered tasted bitter on his tongue. He trusted Elizabeth, and if she’d sent him off with Bond, then Neal should trust him, too. “Tell me something about yourself. Something that doesn’t make me think you’re nothing but an automaton who knows how to use his...hands.”

Bond smiled. “I’ll tell you something. I’m not actually British.” He leaned close, so his face was just inches from Neal’s, who’d leaned forward in response. “I’m Scottish.” He winked and sat back.

Neal sat back as well, disappointed. “So how does a Scot end up working for Her Majesty’s Secret Service?”

“It paid better than the Navy.” The light dimmed for a moment in his crystal blue eyes and Neal thought there was something of the truth in there.

Bond signaled the waiter for more rolls. Then he gave Neal the once over, his expression thoughtful. “So tell me how does one become a famous art forger? I don’t suppose they offer classes in that in American University, do they?”

Neal chuckled. “You’d be surprised. No, I simply have a talent for art, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to be a starving artist.”

“You’re used to being the cleverest man in the room. I know the type.”

“You are the type.”

Bond smirked and nodded at the compliment. 

As they finished their brunch, Neal realized how much he was going to miss Paris food when he left. He hoped he ended up somewhere as delicious. Italy, perhaps?

“I think the crowds have increased enough that we’ll blend in nicely.” Bond held out a silver card, which the waiter snapped up eagerly. “Let me guess, the painting is tucked behind a statue. No - taped underneath a pew.”

Neal sat back and smiled. “You’ll find out.”

***

_At the Notre Dame de Paris_

Bond waited until they merged into the crowd in the square across from the Cathedral before he turned his earwig back on. Not surprising, Q had to weigh in the situation.

“Just what are you doing outside of Notre Dame, 007?” Q’s voice was a welcome distraction in his ear. Otherwise Bond might get too caught up watching Caffrey’s ass as the man led them toward the looming cathedral.

“I’m here to pick up a painting,” he said, smiling at the group of nuns they passed on the way. They all looked to be actual nuns, not assassins in disguise this time. 

“You realize the cathedral is a dead zone for me? No security cameras inside. It’s possible the communications won’t work through the stone.”

“Don’t fret, Q. We can handle it.”

“We?”

Bond didn’t answer as he followed Caffrey inside, amid the tourists queuing up outside. Somehow he bypassed the queue with a wave to the security guard who nodded them both along. Better for Bond, since he still wore his shoulder holster. He nudged Caffrey’s shoulder with his own.

“What’s that about?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Give me the short version.”

“I’m close personal friends with the parish priest.” Caffrey smiled and nodded his head toward the side, away from where the crowds were lining up to take pictures of the gorgeous interior.

There were two red ropes blocking the way, but Caffrey stepped over them easily. Bond looked around before following. It didn’t seem like anyone else was paying attention to them. To be fair, the interior of the cathedral was impressive enough it was easy to ignore everything else.

He never had time to do the touristy things on his missions. Bond had never been inside Notre Dame before, and it made him itchy. There were too many variables, too many unknowns. They needed to get that painting and get the hell out of here.

A figure emerged from the shadows. Bond had his hand on his gun before he realized it was a priest, and apparently the close personal friend Neal had mentioned. Neal stepped forward and whispered in hurried French.

The priest laughed. He was dressed for mass, in a long white cassock and a purple mantle overtop. He nodded and gestured behind him.

Bond frowned as the priest left them to the shadows.

“Come on. They’re about to start mass, which means the sacristy will be clear.” Neal led Bond to a hidden door.

Behind it looked like they’d entered the priest’s linen closet. There were clothes hung up - in a startling array of colors. A table sat in the middle of the room, covered with what Bond assumed were needed for mass - golden chalices and bowls, white candles, and books of matches.

“Let me guess. You were an altar boy.” 

Caffrey laughed. He gestured with both arms, coming very close to knocking everything off the table. “They don’t let tourists back here. This is still a working church. I befriended Father Francois when I first moved to Paris. I think he’s trying to get me to declare a vocation.”

“Mmm. Too bad last night’s activities would most likely exclude you from the priesthood.”

Caffrey shook his head and led the way to another wooden door in the back of the room. “Most people have to pay for the privilege of going up the stairs to the towers. We’re going up the back entrance.”

Bond sighed. Stairs were hell on his knees.

***

He’d kept so much of his loot here. Neal had been planning to liquidate sooner rather than later. They were renovating the cathedral, and odds were that his little hidey hole weren’t going to remain hidden very long.

Still, he didn’t want to reveal all his secrets just yet. They were halfway up the dimly lit stairs when he spun and backed Bond up against the wall, pulling him into a kiss.

“Ah, that explains it,” Bond said when Neal pulled away with swollen lips. “You’re high on the chase.”

He got it. Neal had been missing this - the thrill of getting one over on the authorities, of being the smartest person in the room, being one step faster. The theft itself wasn’t the point. It was getting to that point, and all that came afterward.

“Once we get out of here I’ll roger you into next week,” Bond promised.

Neal looked forward to it. He shifted himself, knowing he’d have to deal with the discomfort for just a little bit longer. At the stop of the steps they came to another door, which Neal opened with ease.

They entered this sub attic, where the church stored its excess supplies. It looked like workers had already been in here, getting rid of the crates that were Neal’s cover. Shit. He should have started to liquidate earlier.

Neal went to the back of the room and shifted a statue covered by a blue tarp. That enabled him to crawl behind to where there were several rolled up canvases covered in oilcloth. Neal wouldn’t have time to save everything. He pulled out “Swan Song” and emerged from the shadows covered with dust and cobwebs. 

“Brilliant. Now let’s get out of here…” Bond trailed off.

Neal heard it too. Footsteps coming up the stairs. It was the only way in, and he didn’t have rappelling gear or anything else that could help them fly off the roof. 

“Get behind the crates.” Bond grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled Neal down next to him. He had his gun out and aimed straight for the door.

Which would pose a problem if Father Fracois walked in.

But no, it turned out Bond’s instincts were correct. Two large men with machine guns walked in - like, really, machine guns? How did they get that past security? Neal suddenly feared for the officers downstairs and all of the tourists. THey hadn’t heard any shots, but... 

A smaller man with white hair appeared between them, a man Neal recognized instantly. Ah. So that’s how they’d found him.

“You can come out, Mr. Caffrey. We know you are here,” he said in badly accented English. 

“Friend of yours?” Bond hissed.

“He was the docent at the museum. I made friends with him to make the theft of the painting easier.” Damn it. He must have been playing Neal just as much as Neal was playing him. “Let me handle this.”

Neal stood up and unraveled the painting. “Is this what you want?”

***

Bond finally understood how M felt. He was going to strangle Caffrey when this was over. 

He got to his feet, holding the gun on the man in the middle. The other two wouldn’t fire without their boss’s say so - Bond hoped.

“I’m glad you’ve come to your senses.” The docent nodded. “Give it here.”

“You’ll have to find it, first.” Caffrey tossed the painting to the opposite side of the room. Bond saw out of the corner of his eye that it was on fire.

“Get it!” the docent screamed to his men who ran for the canvas that had fallen behind a set of crates. 

Bond shot the docent. “Go.” He laid down covering fire while Neal leapt over the docent’s body and down the stairs. Bond followed.

There were two more goons in the sacristy. Neal ducked and Bond fired over him, taking both of them by surprise. They were going to need a clean up crew, stat. Bond could only imagine the press if word got out about the dead men in the cathedral. 

Neal opened the door a crack and stuck his head out. “It looks like that was it. Put the gun away and we can walk out of here with no one noticing.”

“You swiped the matches from here,” Bond realized, “Were you always planning on burning it?”

Neal threw him a smile that went straight to Bond’s cock. “It was a backup plan.”

“Now no one gets the nuclear codes.” His bosses would not be pleased.

Somehow, Neal’s smile deepened. “Well. I did just memorize them.” He turned and strode out the door.

Flummoxed, Bond put his weapon away, straightened his jacket, and followed Neal into the nave. No one bothered them as they made their way back to Bond’s car and onto the street.

Later, they could see the smoke from the highway. Eve was never going to let him live this down. Setting Notre Dame on fire? That was a new one, even for Bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering Bond's tendency for property damage, I thought it would fun if he was the reason behind the fire at Notre Dame.


	6. Epilogue

Neal put the final touches on his forgery of Starry Starry Night. What Q wanted with this was anyone’s guess. He didn’t always know the particulars, and Neal had quickly gotten used to the concept of ‘need to know.’

Working for MI6 was so much more fun than the FBI. They let him _play._

A knock had him looking up. James stood in the doorway, dressed to the nines in a black tux. Neal took a moment to enjoy the sight - the man could fill out a suit. It might have something to do with those broad shoulders and his narrow hips, or maybe that the tailors he used were exceptional. Perhaps a bit of both.

James gestured to the garment bag he carried. “I have your suit. You have twenty minutes to get ready.”

Neal grinned. He didn’t get to go out in the field often, but when the job was at an art gallery, well, there Neal was the expert. 

“Let me just get this in the oven.” He nodded toward his project. Time to age it. He could put the finishing in the helpful hands of his staff.

He had _staff._

“The sooner you finish, the sooner we can get started.” James grinned. “And then have dinner afterward.” Bond left the garment bag hanging on the edge of the shelving unit holding Neal’s paint supplies.

They’d remained friends with benefits. Neal had walls of his own to deal with, so he respected Bond’s. Perhaps that might change in the future, but now, well, now was perfectly fine with him. 

“I’m looking forward to it.” Neal started to pack up his paints, when his phone buzzed. His MI6 issued, double encrypted, to be used only for business, Stark Phone. 

Neal slipped it out of his pocket and frowned. The message came from an unknown number, but the sender was clear from the picture of the child with bright blue eyes.

 _I told Peter,_ the text read. _He took it better than I expected. The picture will disappear in twenty seconds. Stay alive, Neal. At least until we get the chance to visit._

Neal laughed and tucked his phone away. He’d have to tell Q that the CIA had somehow managed to break his encryption, and he would not be pleased.

Or maybe he would. Q always liked a challenge.

Neal grabbed his suit and grinned. It looked like he was in for a fabulous night.

end


End file.
